The Solution
by oncomingtragedy
Summary: "You will fix this." "I appreciate your confidence, Jean, but even I am not Sherlock Holmes. I can't fake his death again to lead them off." - Fem!John Genderswap AU (eventual Johnlock WIP series titled A Study in Pronunciation)


Author notes below.

Unbeta'd and not brit-pick'd. Any suggestions, corrections, and concerns (or heaven help me: offers to beta/brit-pick!) are most welcome.

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><p>"Fix this."<p>

Her throat hurt with the force of that statement, the low demand that was really more of a growl. Mary had the decency to not pretend to be confused this time. The slow tilt of her head was her only acknowledgement, eyes staring, unmoved.

Christ. Trust Mary to excel in all skills she lacks. With that quality of deception, even Sherlock would have acknowledged its brilliance. Had done.

The hours of waiting come back, chilled and curled into a hard chair by his bedside, while watching for as long as she could force her eyes to remain open. Watching for the threat that would surely come, once whoever it was returned for the kill. Waking, and flying to his side. Conducting her own manual check of his vitals. Proceeding to watch for any anomalies in the equipment, expecting tampering. All leading to his first stretch of consciousness, the mutterings of _her_ name between painful breaths. An acknowledgement, Sherlock had later told her, of Mary's deceit and importance.

Jean hadn't asked what he had meant by that. She should have.

"You will fix this."

"I appreciate your confidence, Jean, but even I am not Sherlock Holmes. I can't fake his death _again_ to lead them off."

Though painful, the gasp escapes from what seems like dead space. Somewhere with too much emotion, perhaps. The adrenaline excels in shutting off any acknowledgement of her emotions, anything but the task at hand. It's what had made her such a brilliant soldier.

She didn't have to ask who "they" were.

"So it will be death then?" Her voice is whisper quiet this time.

"Not in such a direct sense, but yes… Jean, I- There's very little to be done." Mary's voice is soft, and sweet, much like the voice of her wife when she had finally broken down and talked about _him_ long before the return.

"You owe me."

This gets a shocked expression, and two weeks ago Jean would have felt satisfied. Now there's just… The matter at hand.

"You owe me his life. And so I expect you to deliver on that."

'You owe him', also applies, but if there's one thing that Jean has learned is that Mary Morstan stops at little to free herself of debt. Debt concerning Jean most especially.

"It's not as simple as disabling a few eyewitnesses, Jean. I am one person, not Mycroft's little helpers and twenty-five tramps."

The fact that she needn't elaborate on her definition of 'disable' does not escape anyone in the room.

"You have your own connections. You have… You have Mycroft and all his little helpers. This bloody show of him not caring is too obvious."

"He convinced everyone in the meeting."

"Yes, well, I happen to have an advantage on the great politicians of this week then. Frequent visits, thirty-odd kidnappings, hundreds of calls in the space of two years alone: they see but do not observe. Mycroft Holmes would sooner fall upon his own sword than allow Sherlock to die."

"I don't understand then. Why are you calling this debt in?"

It takes a few seconds before a bitter laugh escapes her and interrupts the inconvenient pause. Mary seems genuinely confused in the face of something so obvious Sherlock would cry, the furrows on her wife's forehead gentled enough to not be manufactured.

"They've already left me in the dark! For fuck's sake, just offer your services to the bastard so I know that- someone will make sure that- he'll come back!" Her voice is cracking under the strain, and it's all she can do to keep the rage inside, to not become the woman in front of her and hurt the person she loves.

The furrows have left and a blank mask remains, waiting to be formed to its artist's whims.

"He is the one person who could take you away, Jean. I'm quite certain you know how that affects me."

"Christ! Any sane person would have taken the witness protection offer."

"I would find you."

"I know." The swallow is thick and sticky in her throat. "That's what I told Mycroft."

"Oh, not Sherlock? He didn't try to convince you? Your secret boyfriend is nauseatingly careless with your well being."

The taunt is petty and surprisingly ineffective. "Don't begin to even try to act like you know him."

This gives Mary little pause, as she sweetly cries, "Please, of course he wants you to be safe!"

"I am safe with you."

The air is sucked from the room, and Jean is gasping. She waits while the ringing ebbs with each beat of her heart, each brief blackout becomes lighter in the face of a pause acknowledging the truth of such a statement. The first in the many months since the shooting.

"I- I hate these bloody confessions the two of you force me into. I hate it all! I hate you for all of this- _for_ him, even, because it seems he has to have someone else do _that_ for him too! _You_ have to help, because I just-… I want him t- I-"

"You love him."

"Yes! Yes, of course- I do! Jesus, he's my best friend! Of course I love him."

"Oh, _love_. Don't make me repeat corny lines on the difference between 'love' and 'in love'. You love him romantically… sexually. You want him to fuck you. To make love to you."

"You. Cock. Yes. To all that, yes, you selfish coward," and suddenly it's a lightshow going off in behind her eyes, and the realization is sublime and crystal clear.

The solution to all this sympathizes her to Sherlock's frustration with the average world's citizens.

"Too easy, too easy!," cries the high sing-song voice softly, mottled through the low quality phone recording and even further by rooftop wind.

"Which is why you're going to do this."

The following silence is both dare and challenge, but the snap into parade rest is almost answer enough.

"You're not going to do this to save him, Mary. You're doing this to save me, because I will not stay if you leave him to die again. I will go out of my way to end my misery. Do you understand?"

Her expression is glacial, gloriously reptilian. "You would never kill yourself, Jean."

She feels her lips curl into a sinister grimace as she turns to face the door, her eyes narrowing to the point of her eyelashes just barely obscuring her vision.

"How would you know?"

A few satisfying steps put her in reach of the door knob, and she half turns abruptly, letting Mary see the expression still locked onto her face.

"More's to the point, I wouldn't be the one pulling the trigger."

Her lips are stretching into a smile farther than they're accustomed to, bringing in the manic satisfaction that she finally has one up on at least one of them.

"I wouldn't give you any other choice."

She's out of the threshold before the door can hit her on her way out.

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><p>This fic is an itty-bitty tidbit of what the plot bunnies have frolicked around in within my brain, and a small glimpse to where this series will be heading. I intend to re-write the entire canon series with this John, at which point the name of the series will become clear and all too obvious. This will take a great deal of time due to school and my tendency to scroll through Tumblr a great deal. ;3 If you'd like to tag along for that ride, I'd be absolutely overjoyed and grateful. If not, <em>thank you<em> so much for reading through this one.

If you have any questions about my intentions with the series, leave a comment here or an ask over on Tumblr (same name over there). I will not be too free with the information of course (spoilers!), but feel free to ask anyway. :P

Finally, as with any series posted out of order, this scene is subject to change. This is a very good approximation of what I currently believe my Jean will end up like, but as many know there is often a balance of control between a character and writer. Such is often the case in my writing, so the Jean that walks into this situation after writing the first two series and most of the third may not be the one written here. I will leave this posted version untouched, as an alternate to whatever I may write in the future, I can assure you of that at least. A warning just seems only fair.


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